Divvy Q

Divvy Q

dx/dt and dy/dt - partners in crimes against humanity

two coupled equations, that just might be decoupled -

whether partially or completely -  equations who beg the question of

their existence, wondering if there is one solution

or three? Will one line answer everything, or will it take

pages and pages of scratch-outs and screw-ups to determine

where at least one equilibrium point lies hidden in the numbers

and variables looking back at us. It’s common to cross your fingers

and hope it isn’t complex. Hope that you won’t have to separate

the imaginary from the real and instead be faced with two

beautiful, real and distinct eigenvalues that have the solution

to all your problems in life. You hope for a problem where you don’t

have to guess - or second guess or even third guess a solution to,

because in the end, it’s very easy to be wrong.

Phase lines on a portrait can tell their own story -

without the numbers. It’s easy to see where a sink lies.

Where everything gets sucked in - sometimes in a counterclockwise spiral

It is not like a saddle, where things go in and things go out, but even if

all the points end up in one place, at least it is constant.

Abecedarian of a Lost Soul (Draft Three)

A boy, a girl, a hero

Brave, fearsome, courageous or

Crazy enough to travel where

Death himself lives - carefully calculating their

Every move and desire as they begin

Forgetting themselves and forgetting

God as they close their eyes shut, trying to

Hold on tight while memories rush in

Invading their senses, leaving reality

juxtaposed with the faces of whom they

killed, but why they had to die, they’re no
longer sure. Call it war, call it justifiable

murder, call it what you may, but in the

night when gunshots are the one and

only thing that wakes you and

pain is all that reminds you you’re alive - even

quicksand appears to be a better end than

ricocheting bullets that leave nothing but

scars behind. You slowly begin to lose

track of who you are as you cling to the

up-sides of life. Upsides? You spend your time

veering to find yourself as you impatiently

wait for that moment when the

x-ray of your life comes back saying that

“You are who you are not” not a

zealot or a soldier but….

Abecedarian of a Lost Soul (Draft 2)

A boy, a girl, a hero
Born or forgotten?
Cast into a mold or
Destined to make-up their
Every move and desire,
Forgetting themselves and forgetting
God and his companions as they
Hold on tight while memories rush in
Invading their senses, leaving reality
juxtaposed with the faces of whom they
killed, but for what, they are no
longer sure. Call it war, call it justifiable
murder, call it what you may, but in the
night when gunshots are the one and
only thing that wakes you and
pain is all that reminds you you’re alive - even
quicksand appears to be a better end than
ricocheting bullets that leave nothing but
scars behind as you slowly begin to lose
track of who you are as you cling to the
up-sides of life. You spend your time
veering to find yourself as you impatiently
wait for that moment when the
x-ray comes back saying that
“You are who you are not” not a
zealot or a soldier but….

Interviewing my Mother (Draft 3)

Interviewing my Mother (Draft 3)
It is easy to get caught-up in life
Easy to look up at the sky
and forget to count the stars
Instead letting them rotate around you
Making their mark in the sky
While you head inside because it's too cold

It is easy to forget the little things in life
Like asking how someone's day was
and genuinely caring about the answer
it's easy to take what you have for granted
I didn't want to do that anymore
So I started asking questions
"What was my mom like before?"

My Uncle John, he would look down and smile
thinking of better times when
He's be over with my Aunt Kacie
Riding around on our quads in the backyard
my mom on hers and he on my step-dads
Our frontyard was large enough
We had fifteen acres of farmland
His sister's dream come true
They'd stay out late by the bonfire
Listening to the knickering of horses
The baying of the goats
The fluttering of the chickens
All my mother's children
And his nieces and nephews

Asking my aunt what her favorite memory was
Was asking a lot
How could she pick one?
When they were all so great?
"There was that one time
when your Aunt Chrissy was having her bridal shower
it was boring and filled with kids
so we ditched it and went out bar-hopping instead.
Your mother was a fierce soul. She packed fury behind her punch.
She was a mother cub in every sense of the word
One wrong word about you or anyone in the family
and someone earned themselves two black eyes
but she would do anything for anyone
even if she cared not for them
stereotypical to say, but it was true. I went with her
quite a few times. Driving two plus hours
to help rescue animals from a shelter. Your mother was an animal-lover
always filling the house with new furry friends.
Crying whenever she went inside the shelter
seeing how badly treated the animals were.
If she had had the room, you would have had a whole zoo
staying at your place. It breaks my heart knowing
she'll never have a chance to fight your Aunt Chrissy
for a chance to watch your cousin Jace."

        What was it like dying?
As the cancer seared through your body
            Did you still find time to smile?
As your lungs became the battle ground
            Between healthy and mutated cells
Did life still have meaning?

"Radiation, turned my skin red
My beautiful hair, my source of pride,
Finally came out, falling onto my pillow
As if my body itself were weeping

Your aunt came over that day
      Shaving my head, removing my crown
    After all, it was time for wigs

Oh, but I had a smile on my face
when you got off the bus that day
My new crown of glory resting on my head

An unexpected surprised that
wasn’t unexpected, after all

There were five of you, three of blood, two of love,
my beacons of life
You were only newly ripped from the womb,
But in so little time,
you learned the lesson of death
            One that I taught you

But my life had meaning, how could it not?
I had all I wanted in life.
After all, I had you.
            It just wasn’t enough to live for


Dying wasn’t so bad, once you got past the grief
            My body, it ached. Walking became difficult
How could I fight it any longer? My brain turned to mush
            Fleeting memories of better times,
And my body…oh how heavy it felt
            Even after losing my breast
I still felt heavy, as if my bones turned to stone

            But we had fun, despite the war
Raging inside of me. Your grandmother,
            She would stand beside me, inappropriately grabbing my breast
The one that was no longer there
But we all laughed. It was funny, it was naughty
And if we couldn’t poke fun at my situation
I’d be dying in a different way

For two years I fought, and then I was cleared
            I wasn’t dying anymore.
The cells were gone and it was time to recover
            Time to move on

I made jokes, talking about how my new breasts
            Would be bigger than yours
But it wasn’t in my cards. Not for me
            And not for you
My cancer came back
            Or it never did leave
This time though, it perforated my lungs
            My liver, my brain

I would have been on chemo for life
            And radiation for sure
A red, shell of a person is what I would have been
            But I didn’t have it in me, not anymore
The battle became too fierce
            I withered away before your eyes
A rose fighting for life in the warmth of Summer
            While their insides turned to ice

I wish I could say I had a glorious end
            One filled with trumpets and singers
A real menagerie, but it wasn’t
            It was in the living room
Surrounded by my family, but confined to my bed
            Where I found out what it truly was like
To finally be dying
            It was where you found out

What it felt like to die”

To A Slave's Ears

To a Slave’s Ears

“As thik as a knife I tell yer

So thik I culdn’ even see mah fist

evn doe it twas only five, maybe six of dem inches

in front of me. You twoldnt believer yers eyes I tell yer.”

Was how Willy always started out his stories.

His smoldering eyes lighting up like the

flare sent up from a ship in distress

It was one of his favorites, though Ra only knew why

“She twas a beaut! The best deser eyes have ever’ seen.

Long cezar planks, freshly oiled. Oh man, she shurned. Yesh she did.

I tworked my elbows to the bone, rubbin’ and cleanin’ her. Spit shine! haha!

Neve’ a bette’ tway to clean a ship’

He’d always wink then, his tobacco stained teeth shining through

his foul breath creeping out and smacking you right in the face

He’d go right along, as if he didn’t notice the stench protruding from his gums

“We twas on er tway to dem islands. With the coconuts and dem pretty black niggas.

We twanted a batch of em dis time. Big money.”

His usual annoying whistle as his eyes glazed over, his mind on the money who would have once had

“But nature had its own ideers. She twas noter happy with us. No sir’ee. Dem twaves camer crashing down on us. Mighty angry twey twere. Dis tway and dat tway. Puppets we twere. Puppets on a mighty fine string. I twas on da ship one minute and der next, I twas in the water.”

He’d always give a dramatic shake here, as if he could still feel the water’s cold embrace.

“I dought I twas a goner for sure. I says, I says to God “Not now God. I is a good man. I ain’t done nuttin’ twrong. I says my prayers and meh Marys and I go to church and I do as der Bible tells me. It cant be my time.” And God up der, he twas a listenin’. He is always a listenin’ and he heard meh prayers.”

Here, he’d pause and cross himself, his wrinkled neck protruding upwards as if he could see his beloved deity looking down at him.

“A big fish came and I kid yer not. She twas’ a large girl. But phew, twas I happy to see er’.  Sleek fins, grey body, black beady eyes like the devil’s own, but I saw no evil in er’. I climbed onto er’ back and down we twent. Oh! How gorgeous da sea twas. All pink, an’ green an’ sand an’ blue. Da fish and I, we dove in and under the sea. The twaves crashing over and on us. Oh but I felt no pain. no sir’ee. it twas’ an adventure. A grand adventure.”
The old man would lean back in his rocking chair then, a crooked smile on his weather-worn face. The fish was always the favorite part of the story for him. He made sure to emphasis it. Made sure everyone knew God had sent the fish to him. Made sure they knew he had been chosen to live.

“Dat fish, dat bootiful, bootiful fish done took me right to dat nigga island. Dropped me off right der on da sand and twaved goodbye to me I twaved back, giddy as could be, but den I done thought to myself and I says to myself “Dat is a might fine fish der.” I done says. “Twould’ be a might shame to see er go to waste.” So I ate er all up.”

He let out a giddy laugh, slapping his knee as if that was the funniest thing he’d ever heard in the whole entire world.

“I twas cold den. And den out of notwhere comes dis damn nigga. Twit dem dum, dull eyes and dat dark, sinnin’ skin. Sea comes and sea looks at me. I look at er’ and we jus sat der, starin’ at eachtwother until sea offers me dis blanket. Now dis blanket stank to da high heavens. And it twas not very goodly made, but I twas cold and very grateful. I lifted my head up and I thanked God for dis nigga and dis blanket. I dun started to peel of mah clothes ya see, to dry em off. Meh boots were full of dat sea water. So full, I twas almost swimming in them!”

He’d cackle once again, this time slapping someone else’s knees. There would always be an awkward laugh in agreement here, though nobody ever found the story as funny as he did.

“I twent wit dat nigga to der village and I tells you it twas nuttin’ splendid. Dirty, it twas dirty an’ smelly an’ filthy.”

Occasionally a cough would puncture his story around this point. he’d wave his hands wildly as his body wracked with the poison filling his lungs. Somebody would take pity on his poor soul and bring him a cup of water, which he’d promptly spit up. Like the sea water that was permanently trapped in his lungs.

“But dey dont know no better dem niggas. I see dem washin’ in der sea, but it done help dem. Dey hav thiser smell to dem. It’s in der blood. but anyways da niggas dey dun fed me an’ gab me sum clothes an’ a bed, if yer could call it dat, to sleep on. And oh boy, did I sleep. I slept me a good long sleep. An’ in der morning dey helped me look for meh ship. But twas nuthin’ left of her.”

A moment of silence as he bowed his head, crossing his chest once more.

“I dun think dey knew we dun gone down. It was’ a long time I was on dat island. I twas almost afraid I twould be stuck der wit dem dum niggas and der big eyes. Muh skin done got darker an’ I twas afraid the devil done got his hands on me an’ twas turni’ me into one of dem, but no sir’ee. God twas not havin’ dat. He sent one of his ship to us and I twas rescued. Da men twere surprised to see meh and I had to prove that i twas white, but dey knew I twas. By how well-spoken I twas’. Anytway we dun herded dem niggas up and boarded da ship. Dey cried and dey moaned, lookin’ at me wit der dum eyes, but I couldnt help em. Twas God’s tway.”

As if that excused any of it.

“Twhen I arrived back at meh home, my wife twas sure glad to see me. Da first thing she dun says to me twas dat “You dun smell like a nig” and dat twas it. She dun kiss my cheek and we twere happy. We had six more kids and here I am today. Tellin’ da story of how a fish saved meh. “

He’d lean back in his chair once again, having his fill of storytelling this time. Sometimes his monologue was longer and more fierce, other times it was shorter. Focusing in on the fish that ‘saved’ him. He always swore up and down that he saw that fish, telling what he perceived to be the same story over and over again, but it was always wrong.

Old Willy’s brain was as waterlogged at his boots

I was the ‘nigga’ that saved him

And I never saw any fish

Faded

Faded

A picture

A picture of memories

Of good times

Of the bad

The edges crinkled from being carried around

The edges worn from being shown to the world

A picture

A photograph

but the canvas is blank

A Midnight Stroll

Time weighed heavily on his bones

1806, 1943

Each step he took, he walked a century

1740, 1856, 1901

Dust stirred beneath his aged form

1723, 1907 and 1908 respectively

Death surrounded him

1812, 1776, 2009

In all it's glory

Abecedarian of a Lost Soul

A boy, a girl, a hero

Born or forgotten?

Cast into a mold or

Doomed to create their

Every move and desire,

Forcing their presence -

God-like and unholy,

Hellbent, or lurking

In the sunlight,

Jaded by their own

Kin, hated by others but

Loved, for who they

Make themselves out

Not to be, for fear of being

Ostracized by society,

Policed by constraints that

Quiver their soul, that

Reaps what it sows

Savoring the mold, though

Tossing it to the side

Unabashed, unafraid, unashamed

Veering to find themselves

Waiting for that

x-ray to come back saying

“You are who you are” not a

Zealot or a soldier but….

Interviewing my Mother (Draft 2)

        What was it like dying?

As the cancer seared through your body

            Did you still find time to smile?

As your lungs became the battle ground

            Between healthy and mutated cells

Did life still have meaning?

"Radiation, turned my skin red

My beautiful hair, my source of pride,

Finally came out, falling onto my pillow

As if my body itself were weeping

Your aunt came over that day

      Shaving my head, removing my crown

    After all, it was time for wigs

Oh, but I had a smile on my face

when you got off the bus that day

My new crown of glory resting on my head

An unexpected surprised that

wasn’t unexpected, after all

There were five of you, three of blood, two of love,

my beacons of life

You were only newly ripped from the womb,

But in so little time,

you learned the lesson of death

            One that I taught you

But my life had meaning, how could it not?

I had all I wanted in life.

After all, I had you.

            It just wasn’t enough to live for

Dying wasn’t so bad, once you got past the grief

            My body, it ached. Walking became difficult

How could I fight it any longer? My brain turned to mush

            Fleeting memories of better times,

And my body…oh how heavy it felt

            Even after losing my breast

I still felt heavy, as if my bones turned to stone

            But we had fun, despite the war

Raging inside of me. Your grandmother,

            She would stand beside me, inappropriately grabbing my breast

The one that was no longer there

But we all laughed. It was funny, it was naughty

And if we couldn’t poke fun at my situation

I’d be dying in a different way

For two years I fought, and then I was cleared

            I wasn’t dying anymore.

The cells were gone and it was time to recover

            Time to move on

I made jokes, talking about how my new breasts

            Would be bigger than yours

But it wasn’t in my cards. Not for me

            And not for you

My cancer came back

            Or it never did leave

This time though, it perforated my lungs

            My liver, my brain

I would have been on chemo for life

            And radiation for sure

A red, shell of a person is what I would have been

            But I didn’t have it in me, not anymore

The battle became too fierce

            I withered away before your eyes

A rose fighting for life in the warmth of Summer

            While their insides turned to ice

I wish I could say I had a glorious end

            One filled with trumpets and singers

A real menagerie, but it wasn’t

            It was in the living room

Surrounded by my family, but confined to my bed

            Where I found out what it truly was like

To finally be dying

            It was where you found out

What it felt like to die”

Interviewing My Mother

What was it like dying?

As the cancer seared through your body

            Did you still find time to smile?

As your lungs became the battle ground

            Between healthy and mutated cells

Did life still have meaning?

Radiation turned my skin red

My beautiful hair, my source of pride,

Finally came out, falling onto my pillow

As if my body itself was weeping

Your aunt came over and shaved my head

                        It was time for wigs

But I had a smile on my face

when you got off the bus that day,

An unexpected surprised that

wasn’t unexpected, after all

There were five of you, three of blood, two of love,

my beacons of life

You were only newly ripped from the womb,

But in so little time, you learned the lesson of death

            One I taught you

But my life had meaning, how could it not?

I had all I wanted in life.

After all, I had you.

            It just wasn’t enough to live for

Dying wasn’t so bad, once you got past the grief

            My body, it ached. Walking became difficult

How could I fight it any longer? My brain turned to mush

            Fleeting memories of better times,

And my body…oh how heavy it felt

            Even after losing my breast

It still felt heavy, as if my bones turned to stone

            But we had fun, despite the war

Raging inside of me. Your grandmother,

            She would stand beside me, inappropriately grabbing my breast

The one that was no longer there

But we all laughed. It was funny, it was naughty

And if we couldn’t poke fun at my situation

I’d be dying in a different way

For two years I fought, and then I was cleared

            I wasn’t dying anymore.

The cells were gone and it was time to recover

            Time to move on

I made jokes, talking about how my new breasts

            Would be bigger than yours

But it wasn’t in my cards. My cancer came back

            Or it never did leave

Only this time it perforated my lungs

            My liver, my brain

I would have been on chemo for life

            And radiation for sure

A red, shell of a person is what I would have been

            But I didn’t have it in me, not anymore

The battle became to fierce

            I withered away before your eyes

A rose fighting for life in the warmth of Summer

            With their insides turned to ice

I wish I could say I had a glorious end

            One filled with trumpets and singers

A real menagerie, but it wasn’t

            It was in the living room

Surrounded by my family, but confined to my bed

            Where I found out what it truly was like

To finally be dying

            It was where you found out

What it felt like to die

For My Son

For My Son

Cleaning a room is an odd experience,

 like a trip into a jungle,

 where’ve you seen everything before,

but they suddenly have new meaning,

 or like an exotic trip,

one to the canyons,

where every useless item you find

 is suddenly valuable,

Like those old pants I bought you

the ones that never fit you quite right,

but you wore them anyway, just to make me happy

though I knew you never did like them,

or your mountain of mismatched socks,

 the ones I never could throw away –

even though we both knew I wanted to, 

but you, you were so adamant

in your defense, claiming that one day, their soul-mate would come

but that day never did come,

and it never will, not since the day

 I received that message, the one thrown

  on my desk in a crumbled mess,

the one covered in bitter tears so potent,

 the black ink smeared, pooling onto that ricketty, raggedy desk

             you spent all your time at, the cigarette dish still fresh,

your cologne, still too strong - the one that always

 made me sneeze - your faded drawings, covered in crayon and marker.

your favorite pen, used to write many of letters back in the day, your box of tissues

the tissue! Oh, how could I forget

  the tissue? The one you used to dab at my eyeliner

joking about how I looked akin to a raccoon

 and oh how mad that made me, but you

  you laughed it off, that deep laugh of yours

that sung a melody like the music box

A music box like a snow globe.

 My snow globe.

 Remember that?

The glass could never be cleaned, and the snow

 never quite looked right, but you

            worked so hard, throwing those darts

 and nailing the target, winning the globe

You held it proudly, like a trophy

 Then handed it over to me

            Now here it lies, clouded with dust

Is it still your trophy now?

What about that old piece of bread

 you kept in that liquid-filled dish

That grew a whole colony

 and I urged you to throw it out

  but you never could do it

How about your lucky ball cap

 that smelled and had more holes than it ought

            but you wore it anyway

your raven-black hair protruding through

 like a smooth pebble

  in a river that flew too fast

I would venture through this forest a million times

 if it meant I’d find you at the end

  with medals of gold on your chest

A hero, my hero

 Just like you always have been

            even with your quirks. The ones I loved

How could I not love them? You were perfect

            Always were, and always will be

You’re perfect to me

 I even keep that ghastly clock in my room

             that one that never did quite work

The one that goes off the same time every day

                        11:11

   if only I had a wish to make

But for now, I’ll settle with

 those dried, dead flowers

 given to me in the month of May

Proclaiming me at the Queen of them all

 I wore my crown proudly

            even though, it never did quite match,

My flour-stained apron, 

or weathered shoes

            After all, it was a gift from you

And like everything you’ve ever given me

            I’ll treasure it always. Even the grief

Because even this sadness, reminds me of you

Listen now, the clock is chiming

  11:11

 it’s time to make a wish